You Believed In Me
by michi1207
Summary: The BAU is called in on a case where females are being murdered with a single shot, but do they have the right unsub?
1. Chapter 1

Crisp air caressed her flesh, contrasting sharply against the blazing heat from the fire only a handful of feet away. Crickets chirped at the edge of the woods - not like any of them were able to hear them over the music blaring from the trucks gathered in a circle. Liquid courage coursed through all of their veins, and raisin' Hell and lettin' loose were all they cared to do tonight. She smiled and sidled up against the country boy she'd had her eye on for the past two hours; he hadn't been able to stop staring as her body had flowed like water to the beat of the songs. With a sexy grin, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

Had they been able to listen to the sounds of nature, they all would have been able to near the crickets stop their own tunes, the telltale sound of footsteps falling on the sticks and leaves on the ground just beyond the trees, and the very obvious click as a gun cocked.

·····

"This is the third murder in the past two weeks in Pine Mountain, Georgia," the media liaison said, bringing the photos up on the projector. "All with the same M.O., type of location, and victimology."

"A single shot to the temple?" an agent snorted, incredulously.

"According to the local P.D., it was at a distance of over thirty yards. They found an unconscious female-" She pressed a button, and a photo of said young woman flashed onto the screen, "Jemma Marison, not too far into the woods, unconscious with a pretty good-sized gash in her forehead. A large stone nearby had her blood on it - they assumed she'd tripped over a twig and bashed her head on the rock as she was escaping."

"Escaping from _what_?" inquired another agent, and the woman at the end of the table sighed.

"They seem to think she's the killer. The gun was found with her fingerprints all over it, and her left hand was covered in GSR."

The Unit Chief looked up from his files; his eyes held a grave look. "Wheels up in twenty."

·····

She glared at the officer before her, her jaw set, and spat out, "I already told you! I. Didn't. Do. It."

"All evidence points to the contrary, Jemma," the man retorted.

A guttural scream rebounded off the walls, and she slammed her cuffed fists onto the metal table. Officer Dunway started before forcing himself into a calm demeanour. The girl kept banging against the table as her anger mounted more and more; finally, her hard blue eyes bore so deep into his. He squirmed from discomfort. The steady _bang - bang - bang _of her flesh meeting metal was the only sound, but he couldn't drag his eyes away from the sight before him. He had never seen such fury from any of the suspects he'd brought into the station. She suddenly let out the same, throaty shriek; he quickly exited the room.

A group of agents had entered and were waiting in the lobby of the building, when he had gotten to the entrance. He wiped his face of the signs of sweat and trepidation that being in the same room as the suspect had caused; the lead agent stepped forward and held out a hand.

"Hello. I'm SSA Hotchner. These are SSA Morgan, Agent Jareau, and Dr. Reid."

'Hi. Officer Dunway."

"You really think she did this?" Agent Hotchner questioned quietly, as they all stood outside the window to the interrogation room, watching as she continuously banged her hands on the table; this time, she had added the pounding of her feet against the hard, tile floor.

"I'm not sure, to be honest. But she was the only one we found at the scene…well, minus the dead girl."

"How long has she been doing that?"

"Uh, about ten, fifteen minutes. She started doing it while I was questioning her."

"Reid? Is this normal?"

The young doctor cleared his throat. "I won't know until we get to know her and her background. It might mean she has some sort of traumatic block that's inhibiting her from remembering anything/"

"Or she could just be crazy," quipped Dunway dryly. "Have at it. If you can get anything from her, well…'s'better than what we've gotten because of her."


	2. Chapter 2

"I want out of here!" she all but screamed at the reflective window. She knew they were there, just watching, waiting for her to cave in and admit guilt. To say she'd killed Tamyra. To say she had pulled the trigger. To say she had relished in the way the other girl's life had drained from her, onto the ground in a dark, deep crimson pool. She knew they expected to have this case wrapped up by tonight - tomorrow, at latest. They wanted to keep calm and alert no one about the fact a girl who'd won Prom Queen, who had every opportunity at excelling in life, who was everybody's favourite, had been killed with one shot to the forehead.

She wasn't giving them that chance. _She hadn't done it. _She scoffed, stood, walked to the mirror, and slammed her fists against the pane. "Let me out of here, Dunway. Hear me, damn it? Let. Me. Out. Of. Here!"

The door opened, and she stepped back to see who the newcomer was. Her eyes instinctively rolled at the sight of the stoic man. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his ebony eyes were trained on the file in his hands.

"Have a seat, please."

"Who are you."

It wasn't so much a question as a demand. He glanced up and narrowed those sombre eyes that meant "_I'm not playing around._" A sigh forced itself from her lungs; she sat in the cold chair, crossed her legs, and dropped her cuffed hands to the table with one last, resounding _bang._

"Who are you?"

"I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner. I'm from the Behavioural Analysis Unit. The FBI."

"And lemme guess. Dunway in there has you convinced I killed Tamyra."

"Did you?"

"Hell no. Wouldn't waste my freedom on taking her life."

"Tell me what happened that night."

"Ask Dunway. He seems to know every little thing that happens with us crazy people."

"I'm asking you."

The sharp tone took her aback. She brushed a lock of pale blonde hair from her face and linked her fingers together. Her eyes dropped to the table; the sound of her rattling breath echoed through the room when she inhaled.

"It was a party, obviously. We had one every Saturday if possible. Ya know, sin on Saturday, repent on Sunday. That kinda thing. Well…"

_His lips on hers felt as hot as the fire blazing nearby, and she moulded her body to fit against his. The music flowed through them - much like the alcohol. A loud _crack_ rent through the air, and they parted, looking around. Suddenly, a body hit the ground. People screamed. Her country boy joined in the pandemonium and ran, along with everybody else. Truck doors slammed shut; within seconds, the clearing was empty, save for a bonfire, a dead body, and an inebriated girl. She stumbled over to the body and closed her eyes against the sight. Tamyra was dead. Blood was flowing into her hair, to the dirt below. Jemma ran toward the woods. She keeled backwards as something blunt slammed into her forehead. Everything went black._

"When I woke up, I was in the hospital. Then Jackass out there slapped some metal bracelets on me, dragged me here, and lo and behold, you're here, asking me the same damn things they asked."

"Do you know who would want to kill Tamyra?"

"Ha! Nobody around here. She was _perfect_." With a roll of her eyes, she looked at him, asking softly, "Why is this a Fed case? It was only one uncalled-for murder. What's the Bureau's interest?"

"Have you left Pine Mountain lately?"

"Yea, I went to Mars just yesterday!" she spat. "No. I've been stuck in this hellhole for my entire life. Only time I left was when Mom and Gran were on speaking terms when I was seven. Now…tell me, why is the FBI so interested in a singular, measly killing?"

·····

"Hey, Morgan, look at this. This must be the rock that Jemma slammed her head into when she tripped."

SSA Derek Morgan took in the scene. "I dunno. Prentiss, I need you to do something for me. Act like you're tripping over a stick or something." She did as told. "See? When you 'tripped,' there was no path or any markers to indicate that you'd fallen in any way. Over here, where she allegedly tripped, there's a path, like she was dragged or something."

"Which means," she replied, catching onto what he was implying, "Jemma Marison isn't our unsub. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"And the actual unsub made sure he took the heat off himself."

* * *

><p><strong>Alright. So I'm starting to get annoyed with this. UGH. Hopefully, by the time I actually come back around and refresh the window, it will have updated the story like it was supposed to, twenty minutes ago. While I wait...time to write more! :D<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

Jemma stared blankly at the ceiling; her patience was running thin. Dunway had sent in one of the other officers to bring her a cup of stagnant water. Though she was parched, she'd given Officer Snow a glare, raised her hand, and slapped the cup off the table. She wasn't a criminal - therefore, she'd be damned if they treated her like one. Sure, she'd gotten into trouble at school, but nothing more than a few fights and skipping classes. She was nothing like the jocks at the public institute. She didn't torture those deemed lower than her. No, instead, she fought those who preyed on the nerds and outcasts. If she hadn't stood up against the abuse, she most likely would have been more popular amongst the population. She sighed and rested her forehead against the cool metal of the table. When would this be over?

·····

"Hotch, let me go in and talk to her. She's categorising you and Dunway together. She sees you both as dominant, forceful, unbending. Maybe if she talks to someone less threatening, then she'll open up."

Aaron couldn't argue with the youngest agent's logic. "Alright. Morgan and Prentiss are on their way back with information from the latest scene."

Reid nodded, opened the door, and watched as her eyes trained on him immediately. He felt her scrutiny even while he shut the metal door behind him with a decisive click. She hadn't moved more than her eyes, but he was unnerved. How did someone have that forceful of an effect on another without seeming to work very hard at it? Especially someone who was claiming to not be a cold-blooded killer.

"Jemma, we're trying to help you, you know that, right?"

"Save the routine," she snorted, "because it's not going to work. You think that just because I won't talk to the men in uniform out there, I'll actually talk to a kid who looks like a well-dressed university student?"

"Did you murder Tamyra?"

"Nope."

"Do you know who would want to?"

"Nope."

"Do you even care?'

"Nope. Look, the bitch made my life miserable. I hated her. But last I checked, that wasn't a crime to hate someone."

"It could be construed as motive."

"Like I said to Mr. Statue out there, I would never, in a million years, waste my freedom on taking her life. We had a deal the last time we saw each other, before the party: She stays out of my way, I stay out of hers. We didn't know we'd both be at the bonfire, but we were. I kept to one side of the clearing; she stayed on hers. Next thing I know, I was in a hospital bed with a major headache, which hasn't gone away yet, by the way. Is there any possibility that you could get me something to take away the pain? Please?"

"One last question, and I will. What happened to the others who were there?"

She shook her head and brushed away the tears that had arrived. "They left me. I followed a bunch of people, including Parker - my date , but…they all just shut and locked the doors, and took off. I didn't know what to do, so I checked on Tamyra, to see if maybe there was a chance she hadn't been…you know…but she was…_dead_, so I took off toward the path in the woods that lead directly to my house. Then, somebody grabbed me from behind, and I tried fightin' him, I really did, but he was stronger, and he hit me with somethin', and then…it all went black. Now I'm here, accused of murdering a girl who hated me and I hated but would never kill. Not for anything."

"With what hand are you most dominant?"

"What?"

"What hand do you use most?"

"I'm right-handed. My left hand ain't near as useful, except when driving."

With that, he left the room and hurried away from the others gathered in the observation room. He mindlessly told someone to give the girl something to ease the pain in her head. A steady stare into her blue eyes had shown no signs of guilt, nothing but anger and honesty - and could that be grief hidden behind the other emotions? Spencer Reid knew without a doubt, that this young woman could not have killed Tamyra Wilson. Jemma Marison had simply been a pawn in a cruel, twisted game.

·····

Hotch had seen the look in Reid's eyes. He sighed and answered his ringing phone. "Hotchner."

"Hey, Hotch. The press is getting antsy. Do we have anything to tell them?"

"No, not yet. Our only lead is no longer a suspect."

"Damn," the woman on the other end of the line swore, before exhaling deeply into the phone. "Alright. I'll find a way to keep them at bay. And Hotch? I know you know this already, but we need to hurry. This is going to get out of control. The press here will do anything to sell."

"I know."

And he did. He knew that with a ferocious certainty, just as well as he had no doubt that this unsub would devolve. Fast.


	4. Chapter 4

Two days had gone by without seeing the agents, and for that, Jemma was grateful. Though they had told her they knew she was innocent, the local police didn't seem to share the same sentiments. The further she stayed away from the station, the better.

She sighed and sat on her bed. For once, being at home in her 'sanctuary' didn't provide a feeling of comfort as it normally did. Her parents had hardly said a word to her since she'd arrived; kids at school voided her as if she was infected with the plague – well, more than they usually did, that is. This actually hurt, if she was to be honest with herself.

Expelling a deep breath, she grabbed her sketchbook and soft lead pencils, and began drawing. Art had always been an excellent escape for her. She allowed her mind to clear and forgot about the issues through which she was currently going.

"Jemma? Visitor."

"Mama – "

"Don't."

Jemma choked back tears when her mother walked back down the stairs. She stood on the landing, peering around the corner to see who was in the entry hall. Her breath caught in her throat. What was _he_ doing here?

"Come on up."

**!:!:!:!**

DR. REID found her sitting cross-legged on the bed. Her pale fingers held a dull-pointed pencil; she kept eyes averted from his. She was hiding something.

"You didn't tell us you threatened to kill Tamyra."

"That was back in the ninth grade. I didn't think it was important."

"Of course it is, Jemma. This gives Officer Dunway and any lawyer, the opportunity and reason enough to convict you of murder, to blame all this on you, all for the sake of closing the case. You had motive."

"Oh."

"Why didn't you think to tell us? Or were you even thinking at all?"

"Because it was over something stupid. I didn't mean it, and she knew it. I had no idea that it would come back to bite me in the ass."

"Well, it _did_."

"I'm sorry."

He sighed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. "Just…tell me what happened."

_Tamyra grinned at her friends as Jemma stormed up. The latter of the two shoved her way to stand, in all her five-foot-four glory, in front of the elder._

"_Listen here, you evil little bitch, nobody in this school is your servant, inferior, punching bag, or torture experiment. So take yourself elsewhere, or I'll make you wish you'd heeded my advice."_

"_Oh, and what are you gonna do? Kill me?"_

_Tamyra's laughter weakened when the blonde glared into her hazel eyes and spat, "You're damn lucky if I don't."_

Reid gazed at the girl in front of him. "What happened next?"

"A couple days later, we hashed it over. It was like the 'discussion' never even went down."

"Any witnesses?"

"Um, yea. If I remember correctly, it was Lenny. Leonard Price."

"Thank you."

"Dr. Reid, you believe me…don't you?"

"I have this whole time. And I'm not about to start disbelieving you now."

**::::**

"Mama, can we please talk?"

"About what?"

"About why you and Daddy act like I don't exist any more."

"Jemma, you embarrassed us! Not only were you caught at a party, underage, which is bad enough in and of itself, but then you were hauled off to the police station on charges of murder. Do you have any idea what people are saying about our family?"

"It can't be any worse than what people are saying about me to my face, when they're not acting as if I'm a disease-ridden contagion walking. Mama, they call me a murderer, among other things. And not one person believes me when I say I'm innocent. Hell, Mama, not even my own _parents_ believe me. So far, the only ones who have are the FBI. And I find that pathetic." She roe to her feet and walked to the kitchen door; stopping, she murmured without turning to look at her mother, "But no, I can't possibly imagine what you and Daddy are going through."

**::::**

Her walls were crumbling with each barb others threw her way. It was an unusual feeling to experience. She could normally brush off the insults and harsh names. Somehow, however, this was different. She was fighting a personal battle with Hell – with no army behind her. Only she was in her corner.

Or so she thought.

"Hello?...No, she's busy…no…l-…listen…excuse me, do you mind shutting the Hell up for a few seconds, thank you…_**No**_, she's not out committing more murders!...Yes, because I'm staring right at her, moron…Oh, good grief. I don't have time for this, so unless you have something intelligent to say that ain't about my little girl, I suggest you stop calling…Of course I know who this is! Do I look and sound _stupid_ to you? Have a great day, Ms. Edith!"

Jemma grinned as her mother slammed the phone into its cradle. "So you believe me now, Mama?"

"Yes. Now go get washed up for dinner."

**!:!:!:!**

Penelope Garcia's quick eyes and even faster fingers skimmed every bit of information she could find based on the parameters she'd been given. _Come on, you skeeve, show yourself_. This statement-slash-demand had become her mantra for the duration of the case. Suddenly, something clicked into place, and there, amongst jumbled words and dozens of photographs, appeared four of the most likely people to have been the unsub. She hurriedly dialed out and waited for someone to answer.

"Listen up, my profiling minions. The Goddess is ninety-nine point ninety-nine-nine percent sure she just pulled through for you – like usual."


End file.
